Your Thousand Years

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Your Thousand Years
By Arley Steinhour 112716

Why can't the whole world understand,
That you, Dear God/Jesus reach out your hand,
To Lift us Up, and, carry us away,
Before your Throne, for Eternal Day.

The Signs resound, throughout the Land,
That Your final day, is, so close at Hand,
If only We, would awaken unto you,
Ready, when you call us, from the Blue.

You'll not set foot, upon Israeli Land,
Until you have awakened, All, to Stand,
To Realize, what they've done to you,
Upon the Cross, Until Time is Through.

Rapture, will be Man's Awakening Call,
When, All mankind and Israel begin to Fall,
When, no one knows, just where You Stand,
Except the Few, who see, the Palm of your hand;

Revelation, must play, through its Part,
The Strife that cleanses the filthy Heart,
With Church/Bride Gone, All will Know,
Tis You, God/Jesus, that Controls the Show.

'Gog, of Magog,' lay deep, in Israel Soil,
Where, we of Redemption, have no Toil,
We've been gone for, now, a few days,
That, when you Call, Gog, there's few displays;

New Christians will know, the Sign of the Time,
But, those who are dying, lay, filthy in the Grime,
Knowing that they, could have been Redeemed,
They chose Satan, over You, that they Dreamed.

Eighty Percent, over Seven Years, Demise,
Knowing, your standards, that's no big Surprise,
'Six' Billion Souls, after Rapture, Die in Tears,
Only 'One' Remains, to start Your Thousand Years.

AMEN